Cometh the Hour, Cometh the Man
by shredder of paper
Summary: All Harry Potter wanted was to go unnoticed. He wanted a school without Dudley Dursley, a home without Vernon. Apparently his wish was granted.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

The classroom was small and crowded. A woman stood in the front of the room, a chalkboard to her back. Students sat before her with their desks assembled into meandering rows. Chalk dust momentarily hung in the air as the woman swiped the board clean. Her practiced hand assertively transcribed the next of a series of equations onto the board. "Now let's see… who have we not heard from yet today?" The class groaned in reply. The woman paused as if waiting for an answer, one she knew full well would never come. "Ah Piers," she called, directing her gaze the very back of the room, "why don't you have a try?"

Piers muttered something undoubtedly nasty under his breath before rising from his desk. He stumbled his way to the front of the classroom, tripping over backpacks and desk legs on his way. "Sure thing Mrs. Newman!" Piers growled with faux reverence.

Mrs. Newman smiled to herself as Piers scrawled some nonsensical mathematics on the chalkboard. She took a kind of sadistic pleasure in the torment she was causing. Ten minutes from Christmas break and she was still giving them problems to solve. She almost laughed out loud as she scanned the room. Children everywhere were squirming in their seats. Twenty pairs of eyes were firmly focused on the antique clock above the door.

However, there were twenty-two students in attendance. Piers' presence at the board explained one student's diverted attention, but one student had his eyes cast directly upon his desktop. He was a short and scrawny boy almost lost beneath the billowing hand-me-downs he wore as clothes. He never socialized or played with the other children. He never joked in her class, instead only speaking when directly questioned. Normally such responsible behavior would please Mrs. Newman greatly, especially with the dreadful bullies Dudley and Piers under her tutelage, but instead the quiet boy had always concerned her. Harry Potter had always struck Mrs. Newman as someone who only wished to disappear. However, his clownish attire, striking mop of hair, and the jagged scar on his forehead, brought him the very attention he loathed.

Like the other children, Harry was fidgeting endlessly, but his unrest was not due to looming excitement but an impending sense of dread. "Oh no, only four minutes left," Harry whispered under his breath. The only student more upset than Piers himself at Mrs. Newman's question had been Harry. He had no way out. Harry had planned on sprinting from the room at the sound of the bell, hoping to outrun his cousin and his friends before their traditional Christmas holiday celebration. Now there was no way he was getting by Piers. Harry barely noticed Mrs. Newman chew out Piers for his sloppy work. His ears were deaf to the sudden roar of noise that accompanied the student's celebration as the clock struck three.

Harry was finally awoken from his catatonic state by the feeling of a pudgy hand on his shoulder. "Come now Harry," his cousin sweetly drawled "Dad should be outside soon. We wouldn't want to keep him waiting now do we?" Harry rose to his feet but his cousin's hand remained. They began to walk; Dudley's considerable weight pushing down on his shoulder caused Harry to stumble.

Their sneakers squeaked as the three boys walked down the scuffed linoleum floor. Bustling students gave way to the group, knowing from experience what was to come. Everyone in school knew Dudley Dursley. His cruelty and spite the stuff of legend. Everyone in school was also familiar with Harry, the bully's favorite target. Two boys joined the procession. Harry recognized them all too well, Ben Krueger and Christopher Scott. Those two were always good for a kick to Harry's ribs when he went down. Harry heard their voices, the rises and falls of volume, but was deaf to their words. He was overwhelmed with sickening dread and every ounce of his brain power was focused on steeling himself for the physical trauma he was about to endure. Dudley made Harry go through hell everyday of his life. Quick kicks and taunts made up the bulk of the day to day aggression. He couldn't get away with much more than that around teachers or his parents. Although the Dursleys certainly did not care for their nephew, they did not want Dudley to go too far. Bloodstains were pesky to remove and questions from concerned teachers were undesirable. No, Harry got by alright most of the time; Dudley was mostly kept in check.

What had always been unbearable, however, was the first day of vacation. The chaotic atmosphere provided the perfect opportunity for a beating. Teachers were too busy dealing with rambunctious students to interfere. Dudley and the gang could just drag Harry behind the dumpster and have their fun. Harry provided them an outlet to vent frustration during the term, allowing them to slip into the holiday mindset. And of course, Vernon and Petunia were unconcerned with Harry's condition, for he would be out of sight from meddling teachers long enough for the wounds to heal.

Harry looked up just in time to see a bright red dodge ball impact squarely with Dudley's head. The ball contorted for a split second before rebounding and bouncing off across the blacktop. Dudley's mouth flopped open and shut, but he could not speak. The rest of his gang mirrored his shock and the playground went silent.

One solitary figure stepped forward from the crowd. A girl with dirty blond curls. Her mouth contorted into an angry grimace. "Dudley Dursley, you let go of Harry right now!"

What the hell, Harry thought. Who was that? Sarah something. He had class with her once or twice but had never really spoken with her. Harry had no idea why a practical stranger would stick up for him. Normally, people were afraid of stepping on Dudley's toes; no one wanted to get on the wrong side of the school bully, lest they find themselves to be his next target. But this girl was different. She risked her own wellbeing to help him. To help a nobody.

Dudley's shock was not long lived. His flabbergasted face soon purpled with rage and he screeched like a tea kettle. "Who the heck do you think you are? You're going to pay for that !" He clenched his hammy fists and waddled off towards his assailant. Sarah stood still when first faced with the raging behemoth. Her defiant expression faltered as Dudley grew closer. She turned to run but Dudley was upon her. The large boy lowered his shoulder into the girl and knocked her backward. Choked sobs could be heard throughout the now silent schoolyard. Piers crouched down and grabbed a hold of Sarah's hair. She wailed as she was roughly dragged to her feet.

Harry knew he had to move. He needed to protect his savior. Someone had stood up for him. She had cared for him. Harry berated himself, furious at his feet's stubborn refusal to move. He closed his eyes, wishing it would stop. He pressed his palms against his ears, hoping Sarah's screams would stop. But as he tried to ignore the truth, a strange feeling welled up within him. Rage bubbled through his blood.

When Harry opened his eyes Sarah was no longer the only one screaming. Piers was clutching his hand as if burned. His flesh was blackened and a sickening burning smell filled the air. Christopher Scott was hanging from a tree, a branch caught onto a belt loop. Ben Krueger was climbing out of a nearby dumpster

Dudley Dursley was hit worst of all. The sidewalk was cracked where he had collided with it, and he was clutching his behind, having defecated in his drawers.

Sarah's panicked gaze was focused on Harry. He met her eyes and she shuddered. Turning on her heels, she sprinted down the street towards safety.

Harry was far beyond confused. He had no idea what had happened. Other than the rage, he had felt nothing. He had not felt his legs move. He did not remember throwing and punches. He did not remember screaming, but the rawness of his throat told him he had been. Everything had been a blur. He spun around, taking in the horrified stares of his classmates. Mrs. Newman stood frozen. She had most likely noticed the scuffle and moved to break it up, only to be struck by the awesome display.

Harry fell to his knees and hugged himself tightly. This couldn't be happening there was no way. He wasn't some freak like Uncle Vernon said. He wasn't dangerous. He was normal like everyone else. The scene surrounding the boy suggested otherwise. It showed a truth Harry was unwilling to accept. He would never fit in. He didn't belong.

"I wish I was anywhere but here."

Harry felt someone jab his shoulder. Dudley had gathered himself and was seeking retribution.

"I wish I was anywhere but here."

More fists joined the beating as Dudley's gang backed up their leader.

"I wish I was anywhere but here."

And suddenly he was.

* * *

The door creaked open and startled Bartholomew Brosgood from his slumber. The elderly man rubbed the sleep from his eye and licked his palm, using it to slick back his pure white hair. He hopped to his feet, painfully rubbing the soreness from his left knee. Bart grabbed a gnarled cane from the vast collection behind the counter and waddled over to greet his visitor. "Welcome sir. Were you looking for anything in particular today?"

The customer coughed at the dust swirling around the room and nodded his head. "Yeah Bart. My damn roofs' sprung a leak. The missus has only got one pot to cook in back home and wouldn't let me use it to catch the drip. You got anything cheap I could use until I get around to patching it? You know times are a bit tough economically… something really cheap?" The man, dressed in a ragged coat shrugged his shoulders and looked to the shopkeeper hopefully.

Bart let out a chuckle as he began browsing his wares. "Yeah," he began, "I think we should have something for you here." He picked up a tarnished metal pot and rapped sharply on the bottom. "Hmm that one may be a bit too pricey." He tossed the metal pot back to its rightful place on the crowded shelf. Bart continued in this manner for a quarter hour, navigating through the cluttered shop with practiced ease. He tested a few more potential rain receptacles before finally settling on a suitable item.

The customer, Daniel, reached into his pocket and tossed a few silver coins onto the countertop. He grabbed the earthenware flowerpot and headed for the door, waving goodbye to Bart over his shoulder.

His first sale in a week having come to fruition, Bart stretched and was rewarded with the sound of popping. He clambered back to his seat and prepared to watch the day pass away.

--------------

Harry was certain he was no longer in the school yard. It smelled far worse. The acrid scent of sewage assaulted his nostrils, snapping him to complete consciousness. The glow of a streetlamp cast a dim haze over his surroundings. Harry found himself halfway in a sewer. Well that explained the stench.

Groaning, Harry gripped the coarse concrete of the curb and pulled himself upright. "Well there's another pair of Dudley's castoffs ruined," Harry mumbled as he appraised his torn and stained jeans. He stood there for a few minutes rubbing the brown blotches furiously, as if hopping friction would magic them away. It was at that moment that Harry began to think. His thoughts sending him into panic. The young boy's head flailed around frantically and his body whipped around with it. This was most certainly not the familiar playground of his school. There were no schoolchildren playing, no basketball hoops. The air was not filled with high-pitched prepubescent voices; in fact, there was hardly and sound at all.

The silence was broken when Harry knocked over an old metal trashcan. It clacked against the pavement and rolled noisily for a few feet. Harry collapsed onto his knees and vision swam with tears. It looks like he got his wish after all, but he wanted to take it back. He never thought he would miss his idiot cousin, but he certainly did now. At least he had had a home. People knew him, even if it was just barely.

Harry was roused from his self-pity by a wheezing shout. An old man was shuffling towards him, branding an old broom like an Arthurian knight. His gait was choppy and voice painfully soft, but Harry could tell the man was serious. "Shoo you goddamn mutt! Get out of my trash!" The man stopped abruptly when he noticed he had been yelling at a dirty child and not the local stray.

"Please help me sir," Harry began before receiving and emphatic whack to the face by the broom.

"Get out you dirty urchin! This is private property not a shelter. Go piss elsewhere." Harry sat there stunned. Several weak thumps reigned upon his head before he began to scramble away.

"Please, I'm lost. I just need help."

"GET OUT!"

Harry stumbled to the far side of the ally and turned to the left. He became more surefooted as he jogged to the alley's opening. There was no one in the street. Only bleak buildings that looked to be on the verge of collapse. This was most certainly not Little Whinging. Harry had absolutely no idea where he was. There were not even any street signs to give him a hint. Confused and dejected, Harry sat down at the corner and waited.

A few hours later a rusty and ancient pickup truck puttered down the road and stopped in front of Harry. A window rolled down and out popped the head of the broom man. "Get in kid. My names Bart, what's yours?"

-------------

The dusty confines of Bart's shop became Harry's sanctuary. He stayed there during the day and helped Bart organize and restock the shelves. Polished old silverware and dusted pieces of creaky furniture. Harry thoroughly enjoyed these menial tasks. The busy work occupied his mind as well as his hands, removing his frightening dilemma from his thoughts.

"Ugh, here take this" Bart grunted, rousing Harry from his thoughts. The old man was quaking under the weight of a large box of books. Harry quickly hopped up and relieved Bart from his burden. "Go put them in the shelf by the door." Bart reclaimed his usual seat behind the counter.

Struggling under the weight of his load, Harry made his way to the bookshelf. The shelf was perhaps Harry's favorite part of the shop. He had always enjoyed reading books. The library was the one place Dudley would never follow him. He made the most of his time there, reading novels and histories. The Dursley's never gave him enough time to read at home. They kept him constantly occupied with chores around the house, barely leaving him enough time to complete his schoolwork.

Harry often lost himself in Bart's books. They were certainly odd but interesting none the less. He particularly enjoyed the oldest of the tomes. Many of them were nonsensical, full of Latin spells. Histories spoke of goblins with strange names and the wizards who opposed them. Harry enjoyed those stories the most. The characters possessed such determination and power, so unlike him. When he was sure Bart's attention was diverted Harry reenacted the fantastical scenes; he whipped his arms around as if calling down the elements upon his foes.

Harry felt bad about his frequent lapses in focus, but Bart never seemed to care that Harry rarely finished the odd jobs he was given.

A man walking by tossed a newspaper against the door and continued down the street. Bart called for Harry to collect the paper and he complied. Harry opened the door, jingling the bell, and stepped outside. Harry picked up the paper and studied in curiously.

**Charles Manson Sentenced to Death in US**

The front page was graced with the black and white photo of a craggy middle aged man in prison attire. The date read April 9, 1971. Harry wanted desperately to ignore the date, play it off as some kind of joke. But he couldn't. Things about his new home were most certainly odd. At first Harry had thought Bart was an antique dealer. A large portion of his inventory was old and worn, but even the new items were retro in style. Bart owned a small black and white television, and Harry had thought he had just been frugal. Only old shows and movies ever played on it. At first Harry had thought the selection was only a matter of taste, but now he was not so sure.

Shaken by his realization, Harry walked back into the shop. He made his way over to cramped corner and sat to further mull over the paper. A faint bell chime heralded the arrival of a customer, but Harry did not look up. He was distracted by a searing pain in his forehead. Faint voices reached his ears.

"How may I help you sir?"

The voice that responded was firm and confident. "I am looking for a cup."

Harry thought he heard a hint of panic in Bart's reply, but assumed he must have imagined it. "We have some of those, if you'll just follow me."

"No, the one I want is behind you. In that chest."

"I… I don't know what you're talking about sir. I think you should leave." The fear had definitely not been imagined. Harry crawled forward and his scar grew in pain with each step. He sought cover behind pieces of furniture as he approached. He got a glance at the customer. He was a sharply dressed middle-aged man. His handsome face was framed by immaculately maintained brown hair. The man laughed, the sound seemed far too cold to have come from him. Harry's hands began to shake.

The customer reached one hand into his coat pocket and procured a slim piece of wood. He flicked it once and a large chest flew forward and landed on the counter. Bart lurched forward, trying to snatch the box back. His efforts were greeted with another laugh, and another flick of the stick left Bart standing unnaturally still. The man pointed his stick at the chest and a green light issued forth. Florescent lines drew themselves across the chest, coming together to form a complex pattern. The chest opened with a deafening click. The man grabbed the chest and turned it over. A few glittering jems, a small dagger, an old book, and a small golden cup fell onto the counter.

"You could have lived you know. All you needed to do was give me Helga's cup, you idiot squib." Quick as lightning, the man snatched the cup from the counter and gazed at it with relish. "Your family was pure," he continued, "and you just had to soil their good name Bartholomew Brosgood." Harry looked into Bart's eyes and saw absolute terror. "AVADA KEDAVERA."

Harry recognized the sickening green light. He dreamed about it from time to time, always accompanied by screams of terror. The pain in his forehead blazed and he almost blacked out, but he could not tear his eyes away from his friends form as it clumsily fell to the ground. Harry screamed in rage as he ran towards the murderer. His friend was dead and Harry refused to just stand by.

The man laughed as he noticed the approaching boy. "Ah, I wasn't expecting anyone else. No matter, you can die as well." The man raised his wand and Harry grabbed his wrist.

Harry was absolutely blinded with pain. It was the most excruciating pain he had ever experienced. He fell back and writhed on the ground. It took a few seconds for Harry's head to clear, and he realized that his own screams were not alone. He opened his watery eyes and looked at his assailant.

The man was bellowing inhumanly. He was clutching his right arm as it seemed to melt away. His hand was gone. His forearm was rapidly turning to dust and scattering throughout the room. The man snatched his stick from the ground and snarled out an unintelligible phrase. A jet of red light leapt from his stick and impacted his own shoulder. His arm was cleanly severed and it fell to the ground in a bloody mess. The man's eyes connected with Harry's, blazing with rage. He raised his stick at Harry once more.

The familiar rage swelled within Harry once again. It exploded outward, knocking the man off his feet. Harry lunged forward and grabbed the man's exposed ankle. This time the pain was too much for him. His eyes rolled back in his head and he saw no more.

------

Harry awoke to a light flashing in his eyes. A robed man was pointing a glowing stick at his face. Remembering the murderer's stick, Harry panicked. He jumped to his feet and lashed out knocking the stick away. Before he could do anything else, Harry felt two arms firmly wrap around him.

"It's okay boy. Calm down. Calm down." Harry continued to struggle for a few minutes before dissolving to tears. He turned to look for Bart, finding his friend covered with a black sheet. Another robed man withdrew his wand and aimed it at the body. It rose from the ground and glided through the front door.

"Don't worry. You-Know-Who is gone. He left before we got here. I'm surprised he let you live though." He patted Harry's shoulder in what was meant to be a comforting gesture. "Never heard of him doing that before." He guided Harry over to chair. "Your safe now, I'm an auror. I just need to ask you some questions, are you feeling up to it?"

Harry shrugged his shoulders and looked towards the ground. "What did he want? What did he come for?"

"A cup sir."

"A cup? What kind of cup?"

"It was small and gold. That's all I saw."

Before the man could ask his question another auror entered the shop. He glanced at Harry and let out a shocked gasp.

"James! What are you doing here James?" He grabbed Harry's arm and pulled him to his feet. The first auror moved to protest, but the second cut him off. "He can answer the questions later, now he needs to get home." His grip on Harry tightened. Harry felt an unpleasant squishing sensation and a flash of light. The next thing he knew he was standing in front of a quaint home. The sign in front read Godric's Hollow.

The auror walked to the door with Harry in tow. He banged on the door several times and waited. "I'm not sure what you were doing out there James, but your father will not be pleased." Harry was beyond confused. Who was James? This man was talking like he knew him, but he had definitely never seen him before. Harry just hoped he could get some answers soon.

The door was opened by a young boy who looked to be about eleven. He was wearing a deep red shirt with the image of a small winged golden ball on its front. To Harry's amazement the ball darted across the shirt, it was on the right shoulder, then the center. Harry tore his eyes away from the shirt and looked at the boy's face. The bespeckled boy looked quite familiar. Quite familiar indeed.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: I would like to thank my first 2 reviewers, find a smile and LJpotter. There is no thank you for greenviking. I hate you. Anyway, I realize my timeline was a bit messed up in the first chapter. Just to clarify, Harry was transported at the end of the school year then spent about 2 months with Bart. They would have become very close. This chapter picks up the day of the attack, which would be a few weeks before the start of Hogwarts. Thanks again; I hope you enjoy this chapter.

* * *

James Potter held out a deck of odd looking playing cards hopefully. "Fancy a game of snap?" he asked almost pleadingly. The other boy shook his head and dropped his gaze. James grunted in frustration and tossed the deck aside with unnecessary force. The deck gave off several loud pops before settling on the ground, and Harry widened his eyes in shock. Excitement gripped James; this was the most emotion his look-alike had shown all day. He almost began sobbing when Harry once again stared at his shoelaces. Clenching his fists in determination, James dove back into his chest of toys.

If James Potter was one thing, it was determined. When he gave his word, he kept it. No challenge was insurmountable, and James had promised his father that he would entertain Harry while they spoke with auror Jeffries. Harry would be entertained.

James tossed aside his old tap-dancing teddy bear with disdain. That would never do; he hadn't even touched it since he was five. Who would have thought playing with some kid would be so difficult? Exploding-snap was his most recent failure, but there had been many others. His velvet pouch of gobstones was the first item procured from chest. James had jingled the pouch enticingly to no avail. Harry barely noticed him. He did not even bother with his collection of Fanged Frisbees.

It was growing more difficult for James to contain his frustration. Here he was trying to be friendly, attempting to be personable, and his lookalike was being utterly uncooperative. Couldn't he at least talk? Anything would be preferable to this painfully awkward silence. He sent a seething glare at Harry which promptly turned to one of pity. James had not heard the whole story, but auror Weston had said enough. Voldemort had attacked again. This time he had struck some antique shop or something, killing the owner. Apparently Harry had been living there, for he was recovered at the scene.

A cold shutter wracked James. He refused to even think about coming face to face with Voldemort. The man was a murderer, an absolute monster. Worse than that, Harry had seen him murder his friend. He sighed and turned back to the chest with hardened resolve.

Rummaging deeper his hands grazed a smooth wooden box. It was his grandfather's wizard's chess set. He had never really taken to the game, but perhaps Harry had.

"Do you know how to play chess."

* * *

The Dursley's had very rarely spoken about the Potters, but they would occasionally slip. In times of great stress, Vernon would bellow the name "_James Potter_" as a curse. Blaming the man's unsavory character and criminal disposition for whatever problem he faced, problems too big for his standard practice of Harry berating to suffice. Harry cherished these moments, even though they always meant more punishment for the surviving Potter. He longed for any mention of his true family, no matter how slanderous.

Harry knew this James Potter was the one his uncle despised. The timeline fit and the resemblance was strong. Harry could just tell that Vernon would have hated the boy, which was proof enough. But Harry felt little joy, instead trapped in a vicious cycle. He wanted to be happy and excited to meet his father. He had always dreamt of this day. He had imagined his father banging down the Dursley's door and whisking him away. However, the boy crouched in front of the worn chest before him looked nothing like the man from his fantasies. He was not a man at all.

When he thought of his father, he could only see Bart. He had only known the man for a few months, but he was the only family he had ever known. The scene kept on replaying itself in his mind. The green spell connecting as he looked on helplessly. The old man's crumpled form on the ground.

Harry attempted to break his current train of thought. There was no telling how much time he had left here, and he couldn't afford to waste any of it. His real father was right in front of him and this might be his only chance.

"Do you know how to play chess?"

"I've played once or twice. I'm up for a game." James gaped in shock before collecting himself.

"Great," he began, adopting an easygoing smile. "This was by grandfather's board. Some of the pieces are a bit… crass. Makes for a good time though." Harry looked at him quizzically, what did he mean by that? When he glanced down at the board the pieces were already arranged. "You're white, your move."

Considering the board momentarily, Harry picked up one of his exquisitely crafted pawns. It was in the shape of an angry villager clutching a pitchfork. Expertly crafted, far unlike whatever crass construction he was led to expect. "Unhand me you filthy cur! I am entirely capable of moving on my own thank you very much!"

The unexpected shout caused Harry to drop the marble statuette in shock. "Goddamn it you fool! If you crack me so help me god."

"Oh shut up," James interjected. "Just ignore him Harry, he's all bark." These words of assurance did nothing to allay Harry's panicked expression. "What's wrong mate?"

"Wh…what's going on? Did that thing just talk?" Harry began backing away slowly, widening the gap between him and the unnatural board.

"Of course it talked," James answered, "it's a wizard's chess piece. They all talk."

"Wizard's chess…," Harry mumbled, retreating even further. He backed into an old portrait and knocked it askew.

"Well excuse you!" an angry voice called. Harry spun around coming face to face with a man impeccably dressed in Victorian fashion. The man was inside the painting. There was a man trapped inside a painting. Harry screamed. He turned and sprinted towards the front door, tripping somewhere along the way and ending up splayed across the carpeted floor. James was upon him instantly and did all he could to calm the thrashing boy.

The chaotic ruckus interrupted a discussion the adults were having in the kitchen. Expressions grim the three men moved to break up the scuffle. Henry Potter, a rather short man with gray speckled hair, reached down and grabbed his son by the shoulders, gently peeling him away. An elderly and wizened man with a flowing silver beard knelt down to Harry's level, fixing the boy with a firm gaze.

When their eyes made contact a sudden warmth flowed through Harry. His tense muscles loosened and his frantic screams quieted. The twinkling eyes were hypnotic, beckoning Harry to be open and trusting. "What's wrong my boy?" Harry decided to tell the man everything.

"What's going on here? Why is everything so strange?"

The old man scanned the room curiously, taking in the portraits and chess pieces. "Why it's just magic. Are you unfamiliar with it?"

"Magic." His mind immediately conjured an image of the chilling green flash that sucked his friend's life away. "Is that what happened to Bart? Did that man kill him with magic?"

The grandfatherly man bent forward and enveloped Harry's hands within his own gnarled pair. He sighed painfully before continuing, "Yes I am afraid. But please set aside your fear. Not all magic is dangerous; it is not evil on its own. These paintings and toys will do you no harm. They are here for amusement. I am magical and am not evil. I dare say there is magic within you. I can see it." The man lowered himself even further and intensified his unblinking stare. Worries were again swept away by the warming sensation. "Now Harry, I need you to tell me what happened this morning. Tell me what the man did."

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and began his tale. When he came to the part about the cup, the man's eyes stopped twinkling, and he removed a small book, jotting down a note on one of its pages. Deep within his own thoughts, the man beckoned for Harry to continue. He told the man everything, up until the part where the assailant's arm fell off. Harry figured that he must have imagined that, everything was so blurry. Instead he told the bearded man that he had attacked and was knocked unconscious. If anything, that version was more believable and would prevent for bothersome questions.

Throughout his retelling, Harry found his mind wandering. Barely able to focus on the terrifying events of the morning, Harry's memory traversed deeper into the past. He remembered the first day he had met Bart not the day he died. How he had vanished from the school yard, traveled into the past. That must have been magic. Nothing else could explain it. The man in front of him was undoubtedly and expert at magic. His old fashioned spectacles suggested it. His flowing white beard insinuated it. His queer purpled robes proved it. And his twinkling eyes removed absolutely all doubt.

Before him stood a man who would be able to help him. Then and there, Harry Potter vowed to never tell this odd man a word about his "magical" experience.

The man could probably wave his hand and Harry would be right back where he started. The cupboard under the stairs would once again be his home. Back to the loving home of Vernon and Petunia Dursley. He would never see his father again. Harry Potter would simply not let that happen.

As if sensing Harry's growing obstinate resolve, the old man altered the direction of his question.

"Forgive me Harry, for I have been quite rude!" The old man removed his pointed cap and bowed his head bashfully. "I've completely neglected to introduce myself." Extending a hand, the man said "Albus Dumbledore."

"Harry Potter sir, but you already knew that."

"Yes I did," Dumbledore chuckled. His expression quickly became serious. "While yours is indeed a fine name, it raises several questions." Turning his gaze from Harry to James he continued, "You see, I am quite familiar with the Potter family, and I have never seen you before. Neither have they. While Potter is certainly a common name, your resemblance to young James is far too uncanny to be coincidental."

Nervously, Harry looked at his father, whose face televised his curiosity. No, no! Harry thought, not yet. If Dumbledore found out the truth he would send him home. Harry began to desperately form an explanation.

Sensing Harry's nervousness, Dumbledore pressed, "is there something you would like to say?" Harry once again felt the calming sensation, but this time it was different. Searching instead of comforting. He closed his eyes and the probing diminished. When he finally looked back at Dumbledore, Harry found the man staring at not his eyes but his forehead.

"I…I don't know sir. I just don't know. I never knew my parents, they died. I suppose I could be related to these Potters."

Tearing his eyes from the scar, Dumbledore considered the boy's words carefully for several tense minutes. "Yes, that may be the long and short of it. Auror Jeffries, please take Harry to headquarters. He should talk to the other investigators. As he has no where to stay, I will look for a suitable temporary home."

Henry Potter interrupted, "Why there is no need for that, we would be glad to keep him here."

"While I am sure Harry appreciates your hospitality, it will be better this way."

With a nod, the auror escorted Harry from the Potter's home.

"He is hiding something from me." Dumbledore stood and straightened his robes. "Watch him carefully at school James." And with that he was gone.

* * *

A boy of about seventeen stood in front of the door, rubbing his arm nervously. His long silvery blond hair was hidden by his mask and hood. He reached up out of habit to adjust it and felt only rough fabric. Throwing his hand back down in disgust, the boy began to pace. Lucius Malfoy was terrified.

He had longed for this day to come. A personal summons by the Dark Lord was an exceedingly rare occurrence. It was a mark of esteem and honor; something to be flaunted to other supporters. However, that was only if you survived. There was the rather large probability of torture or execution. Rumors abound told that the Dark Lord was displeased. Very, very angry. If such rumors were true, the future did not bode well for Lucius Malfoy.

"Enter," a cold voice called. Lucius obeyed.

A faint silvery haze penetrated the otherwise dark room. Squinting through his mask, Lucius scanned the room, searching for the light's origin. His curiosity momentarily overcame his terror. With shock, he discovered that the light was emanating from Lord Voldemort's seated form. More specifically from an arm and a leg, which both appeared to be formed entirely from the glowing silver substance. Lucius' terror abruptly returned, and he fell to his hands and knees in deference.

"Rise Lucius." Lucius obeyed.

"I always enjoy speaking to my younger recruits. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance." Voldemort's polite words did little to hide his seething rage. Lucius mumbled an almost incoherent response. "You are so very young Lucius, still attending Hogwarts am I correct?"

"Yes my lord. I am entering my seventh year and just been named Headboy." Cringing, Lucius wondered would if the Dark Lord would be unappreciative of his hubris.

"Ah, that is wonderful news indeed. It is so satisfying to see my friends," he paused to emphasize the declaration of camaraderie, "succeed. Now, are you familiar with all of the students of Hogwarts? I would expect as much from such a highly decorated individual as yourself."

"Yes my lord. I keep my eye on things."

"Good, now tell me, do you recognize this boy?" He pressed his wand to his temple and extracted a silvery whisp. Jabbing his wand abruptly, Voldemort threw the thing against the wall. The ethereal material splattered and flowed until it formed a perfect image of Harry Potter's enraged face. "Well do you?" Voldemort's impatience allowed his rage to penetrate his voice.

Stuttering, Lucius replied, "Master, I believe that is James Potter. I don't know when he got that scar, but it looks exactly like him."

"James Potter," Voldemort repeated. "Thank you Lucius. You may leave."

* * *

Harry had never been to a government building before, but he doubted that any of them could match up to their magical counterpart. When Jeffries had taken him from his father's house, he half expected to be led back to Bart's old shop. Instead, he found himself crammed into a glass telephone booth in the center of London. Then magic struck again.

The next thing he knew, Harry was walking across a gargantuan atrium. He was surrounded by golden statues and bustling employees. Paper airplanes buzzed overhead. Everyone dressed strangely, just as Dumbledore and Jeffries. A hidden loudspeaker called out for people to report to nonsensical departments.

Then Harry was guided through a narrow hallway. He went up and down six different elevators before Jeffries led him into a room furnished only with a table and chairs. He was introduced to the seven new aurors who sat around the table and began his story anew.

After three hours and countless questions, Harry was led back through the atrium and out into the street. Jeffries ushered him into a slick black car and they sped off down the street. Exiting before a small house somewhere in the suburbs, Jeffries introduced Harry to his temporary new home. A young woman opened the door and ran out to meet them with a smile. Harry though she looked quite familiar.

"Hello Harry! I'm Arabella Fig, it's such a pleasure to meet you."

Harry choked and began coughing furiously. Who would have thought the old cat lady was so pretty in her youth.

* * *

Tossing the letter onto the kitchen counter, Harry addressed his excited caretaker, "I can't wait." Arabella Fig's smiled widened as she continued telling Harry how lucky he was to be accepted to as fine an institution as Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"I'm a squib you know, so I never got to go. Always dreamed about it though." She continued her babbling as Harry tuned her out. The grin on his face was only superficial; in truth the letter that sat before him brought as much worry as relief. Hogwarts definitely had its benefits. Harry had not seen his father since the day Bart died. James Potter would be entering his second year of magical schooling according to Arabella. He was a year older than Harry. They would most certainly see each other throughout the school year. Maybe, hopefully, they would become friends. With no way of telling how the magic that transported him operated, Harry knew he needed to make the most of his opportunities to spend time with his father.

There was of course Lily Evans, who had been "a freak" like her husband. She would be there as well.

"And of course Albus Dumbledore will be your headmaster. He is such a great man. You've met him of course. I'm sure you're excited to see him again."

There Arabella hit on the negatives of attending Hogwarts. The old man made Harry nervous, for he could tell his secret was no longer safe anywhere near the headmaster. Harry had felt Dumbledore probing him, searching for answers to the questions Harry dodged. Dumbledore knew he was lying. Though Harry was able to dodge the professor's attempts the first time around, there was no telling how long that would last.

Despite his trepidation, Harry knew what he had to do. He was still mad with himself for wasting a whole day with his father, and he refused to waste any more.

"Good dear, now go get ready. We're leaving to buy your school things in an hour."

As soon as the boy rounded the corner and headed up the stairs, Arabella kneeled down in front of the fireplace. The flames roared and a familiar purple pointed hat clad appeared within them.

* * *

Exactly five and half hours later Harry and Arabella walked backed down Diagon Alley towards the leaky cauldron. Harry was utterly exhausted. It had taken forever to acquire all of his required materials, for the entire alley was crammed full of Hogwarts students. He had awkwardly assured several that he was in fact not their friend James, but frustratingly many assumed he was kidding or something. Well, it was all over with now.

With hands in pocket, Harry clenched his most recent purchase. It was a holly and phoenix feather wand. The old man who had sold it to him was quite an eccentric fellow. He has spent 45 minutes excitedly handing the boy new wands to try. With each failed attempt, his delight grew. When Ollivander finally opened up a dusty box with the holly wand inside his expression was grave. When Harry had declared that the wand felt perfect, his express had seemed almost frightened. With his earlier friendliness gone, Ollivander had briskly ushered Harry from his store. Harry was not overly concerned at the man's peculiar behavior, for he was too distracted by his happiness. Finally, Harry was feeling like a true wizard.

When the pair arrived in front of the Leaky Cauldron, a painful grip on Harry's shoulder drew him to a stop. He turned to see the terrified face of Arabella. She was fishing frantically in her purse and finally removed a faintly glowing coin. Harry recognized it as a gallon or something, the largest denomination of wizarding currency. It appeared to be vibrating furiously while emitting a faint glow. Arabella collected herself and shoved Harry into the inn. She did not stop there, and before he knew it, Harry found himself in a nondescript room, the door locked.

"What's wrong?" Harry addressed his caretaker curiously.

"Be quiet!" Harry had never seen the jovial Arabella so intense. The pair sat huddled in the dark for several hours before a knock sounded upon the door.

"It's alright Arabella. It's safe now." Harry recognized the voice; it was the auror Jeffries. When Harry and Arabella descended down the stairs, a buzz of whispers greeted them.

"Another Death Eater attack!"

"I hear it was the Potters. I wonder if their all right."

"I hear He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was there himself!"

"No! My cousin Albert lives across from Godric's Hollow and said nothing of the sort. A false rumor, that is."

Harry's eyes widened in realization. His breathing shortened and tears began flowing from his eyes. His family was attacked. The man from the shop, the murderer, was mad at him. He was punishing him. He was taking away the things that mattered the most. His father, he was probably gone already.

Dead again.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: I apologize for the substantial wait. Sorry. Now, I realize that I have changed around the ages of several characters in this chapter and meddled with some other timeline issues. Well, its an alternate reality so I can do that. Just letting you know. Anyway, Enjoy the chapter! The next one won't take as long, I promise.

"Come one, come all! First years, second, third, no fourths, I'm looking at you Weasley, stay away. All else, come look upon the scars of a brave man."

"Boy," a feminine voice cut in.

"SILENCE LILY EVANS! A MAN. A HERO!" The Hero smacked him. Nursing his head, Sirius muttered something sounding suspiciously like skirt chasing git, before turning back to the gathering crowd. "Have you ever seen a death eater? Any of you? Hubert? Denice? No? Well James Potter has. Not only has James Potter seen a death eater, but he's fought those hooded pansies. Yes! The rumors are true. Death Eaters attacked the Potter estate. Yes gasp, gasp. It is all very dramatic. But unfortunately for them, our James here knows his way around a wand. Five? Ten? 15? How many of them were there James?"

"Something like that Sirius."

"There you have it!" The handsome youth bellowed. He had lungs like a Sonorus charm. "From his own mouth. Those sneaky bastards got in the first shot, but James fought straight through it. Show them the scar!"

James pretended to look sheepish as he rolled up his sleeve. There was a latticework of red above his right elbow.

Standing a few behind the excited crowd, with hands loosely resting upon the handle of his luggage trolley, Harry Potter shook his head. "Unbelievable," he muttered.

Arabella ruffled his hair. "Boys will be boys."

"Don't they understand how dangerous he is? Bart...he just killed Bart like he was nothing. James could have died. I... I thought he died." Arabella stooped down and pulled him into a tight hug. Harry caught quite a few appreciative glances from older students.

"Sh Harry, its okay. Try not to worry, Hogwarts is a safe-" The horn of the Hogwart's Express let out a pair of sharp calls. It's time Harry. Now don't you dare forget to write me! Once a week at least." She pulled his hand into hers. "Never forget Harry, you aren't alone."

Before stepping onto the train, Harry had felt no small amount of anxiety. He had never been good in social situations. Dudley had made sure he was constantly isolated and lonely. And now, Harry was simply overwhelmed by the amount of children his own age around him. Talking children. Laughing children. Hugging children. Where was he to fit in amongst all this. Everyone knew where to go and who to go there with. He simply did not. He briefly considered searching out James, but saw him disappear into a compartment surrounded by a gaggle of peers. Even worse, that incorrigible Sirius fellow was still by his side. There wouldn't be any room for him, Besides, he was still upset over their earlier performance.

Of course, his worries were for naught. Every first year was in the same situation. Looking for a compartment, searching for friends. Even those with older siblings were shunned, shooed away by the very brothers and sisters they idolized. It was the first day of school, like any other.

Soon enough, Harry found himself sharing a compartment with a short pudgy boy wearing a comical velvet bowler hat. He doffed his hat and extended a hand. "Cornelius Fudge, a pleasure to meet you!"

"Hello, I'm Harry Potter."

"Splendid! Smashing! Potter you say? Are-"

"You related to James Potter, slayer of Death Eaters?" Standing in the doorway was a beautiful girl, at least beautiful to Harry's eleven year old eyes. She was tall and graceful, with long curls of blond hair hanging past her shoulders. She was wearing the most amazing dress Harry had ever seen. It was made of a deep green fabric, but what made it so spectacular was the decoration. Countless brooms flew all over, chasing red balls and dodging black ones. By her chest, Harry glimpsed a shimmering speck of gold. But only for a second.

"What are you looking at pervert?"

Harry flushed and stammered a frantic and incoherent apology. The girls scowling face broke out into a radiant grin. "Only kidding you. Quiditch fan are you? I threw a temper tantrum when I found out I'd have to leave my broom at home. My dad bought me this to keep my spirit's up. My name is Gwen Jones by the way." She said shaking Harry's hand.

"Harry Potter."

"Yes I heard." Harry had the sinking feeling that he would be blushing fairly regularly at Hogwarts, as he was already making a habit of it. Gwen turned to the compartments other occupant. He doffed his hat and extended a hand. "Cornelius Fudge, a pleasure to meet you!"

About a half hour later, their group of three become four. After hearing the knock, they slid open the compartment door and were greeted by a panting and sweaty first year boy. "Hello there, sorry to bother you, but might you have any space? I've been dragging this all over the train." He exuded an almost pathetic aura of amiability.

"Certainly!" Harry responded, slyly sliding closer to Gwen, only to make room for the boy and his trunks of course. When all was settled, the boy introduced himself. "Thanks again. I'm Daedalus Diggle, at your service."

Harry couldn't contain himself. He giggled. "I'm sorry, its just a rather funny name."  
Diggle was on him in a second. Eyes glinted red, Diggle thrashed and wailed on Harry, scratching, clawing and kicking. Monstrous growls emanated from his throat.

"Oh dear me!" Cornelius shouted, hitting Diggle squarely over the head with an umbrella extracted from his pocket. Cornelius Fudge was a man of action. "Oh my!"

The thrashing stopped instantly, replaced by soft crying. "Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. I'm so sorry." His face was buried deep into his hands.

Gwen jumped down, and helped Harry back into his seat. "What in the name of Merlin was that? He was only saying what we were all thinking. I mean, my name is Gwenog. I know how you feel, but I'd be in Azkaban if I punched everyone who made fun of me." Perhaps he was still in shock, but Gwenog sounded like a beautiful name to Harry.

"I'm so sorry. It's not entirely my fault. I mean, its my fault. But I have a medical condition."

"Its really OK. I'm fine," Harry interjected. "Lets just not do it again." Despite his ferocity, Diggle did not hit nearly as hard as Dudley. Diggle reached into his pocket and presented Harry with a neatly folded letter.

_Dear Sir, Madam, Goblin, Elf or Whomever Else it May Concern,_

_I am writing this letter to preemptively apologize for and excuse the actions of one Daedalus Diggle. Mr. Diggle has recently experienced possession by an unidentified malicious entity. He occasionally loses control over his actions, but is mostly harmless. Please excuse any outbursts. If Mr. Diggle faces any legal ramifications for his actions, please do not hesitate to contact me by floo._

_ Jonas Joplin_  
_ Head of the Department of Magical Mental Maladies_  
_ St. Mungo's Hospital._

Finished with the letter, Harry put a hand on Daedalus' shoulder. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, its alright. Things have gotten a lot better the past few months."

"What is it?" Gwen inquired.

Daedalus nodded, indicating Harry to pass along the letter. Gwen whistled before tossing it along to Cornelius. "Never met someone possessed before. That's pretty cool. Does it hurt."

"Only afterwards," Daedalus responded, rubbing his tender fists.

"How'd it happen?" Harry asked softly.

"Well my mother dragged me to some flea market. She was looking for a new set of ever burning lamps for our porch outside. I was just wandering around. She yelled at me to be careful, always saying I have no sense. I smelled tea and looked over to find this gleaming tea pot. Figured it couldn't hurt to poor myself a cup. Turns out it wasn't tea I drank. The doctor said that whatever was actually in that pot really brought me past my boiling point."

"A pun! How marvelous!" Cornelius tooted. "Just smashing!"

Though the awkwardness of the assault persisted for a good half hour, the four first years were able to regain their comfort zone. Though the idea of possession was new and frightening to Harry, so was most other aspects of the Wizarding World. He was beginning to grow accustomed to being surprised and thought no less of Daedalus. If anything he was more intrigued by the boy after the outburst. Gwen seemed to have forgotten the incident entirely. The snack trolley had based a few minutes prior and each of them splurged on candies to share. She had uncovered an apparently rare quiditch player card from a package of chocolate covered frogs. To say she was excited would be an understatement. Cornelius was entertaining himself with a package of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans.

"Chocolate Ganache. Scrumptious!"

"So Harry, are you related to James Potter?" Gwen asked, finally putting the card in her pocket.

"Pond Scum! Quite interesting!"

"Yeah. I'm a distant cousin or something. I've only just met him. I actually grew up a munggle...er muggle."

"Wow, whats it like out there. I always wondered how muggles got along with out magic." Daedalus joined in. "It seems like everything would be so difficult. No floo. No owls. How do you get your post?"

"Well a postman comes around." Diggle was utterly fascinated.

"Oh my. This Peanut Pecan bean is utterly scrumptious!"

Diggle cringed. "That's why I never eat those things. I'm allergic to peanuts."

Cornelius frowned a frown of genuine sorrow. "How dreadful for you, my good man."

"You two stop high-jacking the conversation! Now Harry, tell me about James. I heard what he did the other day. So brave."  
Harry snorted. "Brave? He's not brave. The Death Eaters triggered a detection charm. The police, or whatever you call them, were there in second. The alarm scared the hell out of him and he fell down the steps. That's how he earned such a magnificent scar." That was perhaps a bit harsh, but Harry did not appreciate how Gwen's eyes lit up when she mentioned James. He did not like it one bit.

"Way to crush a little Girl's dreams Harry. You're a real pal and a stand up cousin. Well, whatever you say, he's still rather cute."

Diggle considered Harry stoically." You know man, you and James look practically identical."

"Do they Daedalus? I hadn't noticed. I guess Harry is a bit cute too. Maybe." Her wink once again painted Harry's face red.

"BLARG AGGG .Disgusting." Chimed in Fudge. "This Pina Colada Bertie Bott Every Flavor Bean is the most utterly repulsive thing I have yet tasted in my life! How horrid!" Cornelius Fudge returned the half full bag to his magically massive pocket. "I shall retire these beans for now, my experience having been marginally diminished."

And thus the Hogwart's Express pulled into Hogsmeade station. Students of all ages flooded that platform, jostling and pushing each other in their haste. Harry and his new found friends pushed past a few stragglers just now pulling on robes and stepped from the train and onto solid ground.

"Deadalus Diggle? Is there a Daedalus Diggle here?" Daedalus rushed towards the young nurse calling his name. After a bit of heated discussion, he showed her his letter and she nodded. When he returned he breathlessly explained, "Wants to see me after dinner to discuss my condition." The others nodded in understanding.

"You lot Firs Years I reckon?" Harry turned and came face to naval with the largest man he had ever seen. "I'm Rubeus Haggrid, here to lead you cross the lake. Just hop in a boat over there." Despite the man's monstrous stature, he looked rather young. The four heeded the mans words and soon found themselves gliding across the still waters of the lake, playfully swiping at the reflected stars scattered across the water's glass-like surface.

"Wouldn't do that if I were." A boy in an adjacent boat called out. "My older brother says there are monsters and such down there."

"Thanks for the warning," Harry retorted, suppressing a shiver. Was nothing normal in this place?

Gwen squinted hard at the boy. "You're the spit of Ludo Bagman, you know that?"

The boy did not look all too pleased. "Well, he is my brother."  
Cornelius Fudge doffed his hat and extended a hand, "Cornelius Fudge, a pleasure to meet you!" The ensuing handshake nearly tipped both boats over.

"Otto Bagman."

"Blimey, Ludo Bagman. What a beater. I hear he's one of the best Hogwarts had ever had. Can't wait to see him play. I can't believe it." Somewhere amidst Gwen's excited rambling, Harry Potter decided that quiditch just might be his sport. "You know, I play beater. Don't think I can't hit because I'm a girl. I can hit with the best of them."

"Yes, well umm, I'm sure you'd get along famously with Ludo than."

"You really think so! You think he would talk to me? I really hope so. I mean I really really hope so." Yes, Harry would most certainly be trying out for the team. If the dejection written all over Otto's face was any indication, he would most certainly not be.

Gwen's rambling persisted the entire way across the lake. It did not end when they stumbled out of the boats. While every other first year gazed up in awe at the castle that would soon become their home, Gwen was entirely unfazed. The poltergeist and his messy prank had absolutely no effect. It was only a sharp reprimand from the severe witch that met them outside of the great hall that finally brought her back to reality.

"Well now that I finally... have your attention let me introduce myself. My name is Professor McGonagall. I will be teaching you the magical art of transfiguration. Now listen closely. In a few minutes we will all enter the Great Hall and the sorting ceremony will begin. You will line up in front of the Professor's table, and one by one I will read out your names. When your name is called, you will walk up and put the Sorting Hat on your head. It will announce your house and you will promptly join your housemates at their table. Any questions? Good. Lets begin."

Harry knew he should have expected it. It was a magic school after all. Of course there would be a magical ceiling. Of course there would be floating candles and colorful banners waving in an invisible wind. Harry knew he should have expected all this, and still the Great Hall of Hogwarts left him in complete awe. When he Harry finally pulled his eyes from the glittering constellations that hung in the ceiling, he realized that the sorting had begun.

"Otto Bagman" The boy Harry met in the boat quickly scurried over to the stool and placed a tattered hat upon his head. Harry stared, waiting for something to happen. "GRYFFINDOR!" An explosion of cheers. A dashing and athletic blonde student got up from the Gryffindor table and beconed Otto. "Come on Otto, come sit here, Dad'll be pleased!" Otto reluctantly obeyed. Meanwhile James and Sirius had taken to the table top. They were executing some type of jig with utterly surprising acumen. They were singing some song involving the words Bagmen, Cup, and the phrase kiss my ass. Professor Mcgonagall was most displeased.

A few more names were called before Harry again took interest. "Daedalus Diggle" It did not take the hat long at all to bellow, "Huffelpuff!"

A few names later, Cornelius Fudge's sorting copied Diggle's in both speed and destination.

"Gwenog Jones." She flashed Harry a smile before heading over to the bench. "Gryffindor!" Gwen squeeled in delight and ran over to the table. She hesitated for a moment, seemingly deciding between squeezing in next to James Potter or heading down the table to force her way through the crowd surrounding Ludo. In the end, she glanced back at Harry before sitting down in an area with more space. Harry was sure he had never smiled so hard.

"Harry Potter."

"GOODLUCK!" James yelled, shooting his son a wave. Harry approached the stool and slipped the hat on over his head.

_Well well. What do we have here? Certainly something you don't see every year. Decade or century for that matter. A time traveler, how entertaining. And to think I threatened to quit just yesterday. I'm glad that old man Dumbledore talked me out of it though. This is quite entertaining. I'd never tell him that though, smug bastard. _

_You know, this job isn't so bad really. I suppose I shouldn't really complain. Its mainly just boring for 364 days a year, but I can live with that. Not so bad. I despise that damn song though, they make me come up with a new one every year! Can you believe that? What a waste of my time. _

_-Hold on a Goddamn second. You didn't even listen to my song? Your head was too far up in the magical clouds. You have to be kidding me. Three weeks I spent writing that stupid song, and you didn't even listen. Unbelievable. _

"Um, sir? I'm really sorry. I just got caught up."

_Yes, yes. Its alright. I understand. Well anyway, lets get back to this rather interesting circumstance. You've traveled through time and you have no idea how."_

"Yes."

_Fortunately for you, I know how. Ha! You should have seen your excitement. Actually I was just lying. Now don't get so mad. I do know things that might interest you. Things you will never learn if you actually light me on me explain something to you Mr. Potter. Something about memory. As you have probably already guessed, I can see your memories. It is my magical gift. What you probably didn't realize is that I can see more of your own memories than you can. The human mind is a sponge, soaking up everything that happens and filling it away. Unfortunately for you, most of the earliest files get lost. You can't remember your life as a baby, but I can. I see everything. Do you see? I know everything. And believe me when I say, I know things you would certainly want to know. _

"Will you tell me?"

_Of course I will. That is, if you do something for me first. _

"What do I need to do?"

_That is a most excellent question. I will be honest with you. I have no idea. Its not often that an opportunity like this presents itself. I will have to think long and hard about this one. Come find me some other time, give me a couple days. Now, back to the task at hand, your sorting. I like you Harry Potter, I like you a lot. I'll let you choose. Now now, don't insult me, I know what you'll choose. Either Hufflepuff or Gryffindor. Friendship v. love. Which one will you choose? Two v. one. Diggle and Fudge v. Jones. Its a toughie. _

"Harry! Harry, are you alright? Professor, is he alright? Harry?" Jame's voice was faint.

_Ahhh. Forgot about him did you? How could you forget about the father you've always dreamt about? That certainly tips the scales. I'm no monster who breaks up families. You're Welcome. "GRYFFINDOR!"_

The great hall was entirely silent. James Potter stood twenty feet away from the Gryffindor table, concern plainly written on his face. The old man, Dumbledore Harry remembered, rose to his feet. "That was certainly something, a new record most likely. Mr. Potter, you must indeed have a very interesting head. Not you Mr. Potter, the other Mr. Potter, well you too Mr. Potter. But now I'm afraid I must ask the Mr. Potters to please head over to the Gryffindor table so the sorting may continue." Harry could not help but notice that despite the seemingly playful nature of the man's words, he was not smiling.

When Harry finally found his way next to Gwen, she grabbed his arm in a surprisingly strong and playful grip. "What the hell was that? I was worried you idiot. You were in there for a good twenty minutes."

"I don't know, he just had a tough time I suppose."

"Understatement of the century."

The remainder of the sorting ceremony took about as long as Harry's sorting had, and it was not long before the Headmaster said a few words and worked his magic, summoning forth food for his hungry students. Harry's enjoyment of the delicious fare was somewhat hampered by the curious glances other students frequently shot his way. But as the food settled in his stomach, he ceased to notice, only thinking about the warm bed he would soon jump into. Big meals always made him sleepy.

The rest of the evening was a blur. Harry knew that he was introduced to a few of his housemates. And some prefect told him some password. Something about stairways and getting lost. None of it seemed too important at the time. Before he knew it, Harry found himself at the base of a common room staircase, promising Gwen that he would meet her for breakfast tomorrow.

Then into his bed he went.

AN: Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think. Please. I would appreciate it tremendously.


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